Jeremy Baker, Ravenclaw - First Year: The Thestral-Hair Wand
by An Imperfect Stranger
Summary: Hogwarts has undergone significant repair and reopened to students for the first time in 3 years. Lord Voldemort is long gone, but as First Year Jeremy Baker soon finds out, perhaps this is not the end of the school's troubles. *I BEGAN THIS STORY 4 YEARS AGO ON THIS ACCOUNT, BUT UNDER A DIFFERENT PEN-NAME. SIMILARITIES TO THIS STORY DO NOT INFRINGE COPYRIGHT*
1. Muggles, Magic and Moving House

**Jeremy Baker, Ravenclaw**

**First Year: The Thestral-Hair Wand**

I've been told over and over again it's perfectly normal to find out as late as I did. I've heard that even Harry Potter himself wasn't told he was a wizard until he was eleven, and Hermione Granger discovered she was a witch through her Hogwarts letter.

But my story isn't like theirs. I didn't grow up with a horrible muggle aunt and uncle who wanted to stamp every last drop of magic out of me, like he did. I'm not muggle-born, like she is. My magical parents knew I was one of them from the moment I was born, but they only revealed the wizarding world to me at the last possible moment - just as I was about to be plunged into it.

I mean, there was a perfectly good reason for their secrecy, and it doesn't really matter any more. But it's significant to this story - my story - because this is where it begins.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Muggles, Magic, and Moving House**

I remember it clearly. It was my final day of primary school, and I slowly meandered my way home, tears splashing the cobbles of Lincoln's sloping streets. I slowly made my way round the back of the grocer's, and up the stairs to my home above the shop. I had lived here ever since I could remember, and now I was painfully aware that I would be leaving it forever.

My parents had informed me in March of that year that we would be moving house, and I had been dreading the day ever since. My neighbourhood was tight-knit; all of my friends from school went to church with me, cub scouts, round to each other's houses, and down to the field to play football in the summer. Now, they would all be going to the same secondary school, Canwick Park Academy, and for the first time, I wouldn't be with them. That - perhaps even more than my fear of leaving my house - was another big reason for my tears.

There was nothing to be done though. My parents were both anthropologists - people who study humans and their culture - and they had been all over the world together, observing everything from French Urban life to South American tribes and Inuit communities. When my mum found out she was pregnant, they returned to Lincoln, and the shop my dad inherited from his grandparents. They employed a few people to work the grocer's, and used the house above as a work base and a home.

"We couldn't travel like we used to any more," my mum had said when they broke the news about our departure. "We needed somewhere stable. So we set up above the Grocer's, and decided to do a project on how family life affects day-to-day routines."

"Why can't you carry on doing that?" I had asked, still incredulous to this sudden change.

"We need a new location. A new project." My dad had said cryptically. The subject had been dropped, but ever since then the three of us had been making our preparations to move. Now the day was upon us, and it was with a sad smile that I greeted my parents when they opened the door. We would be leaving for East Anglia after dinner, to a house mum and dad had acquired just outside the small town of Bury St. Edmund's. We'd been there to visit a couple of times, and despite myself, I had been impressed. It was large but comfortable, with an open fire and wooden panelling on the walls. There was no garden, just an expanse of grassland and forest for miles around. I loved the outdoors, but I didn't like the idea of having no friends to enjoy it with, and I wished with all my heart that all of mine could come and join me there.

Also, my parents had been very quiet about where I would be going to secondary school. They claimed to have sorted it all out, but even when I asked them at the dinner table that day, my mum said the same thing as before: "There's a very respected school in Bury, we'll go and visit in the summer." I left it at that. They had made my favourite - shepherd's pie with extra cheese in the mashed potato - in an effort to cheer me up, but I disappointed them by not sharing their apparent excitement at the prospect of moving.

All too soon, we were saying goodbye to the now-bare house. The shop would remain open, and the house may yet be rented out, as I had heard my parents saying a week or two earlier. I took one last look around, my eyes once again brimming with tears as I surveyed my bedroom of eleven years. The three of us piled into the car, and Dad pulled off, heading for the A1 that would take us down towards Suffolk. For the first hour of the journey, no one spoke. My parents had the radio on, but I wasn't listening, just gazing suddenly out of the window.

Then, when we had been stuck in a traffic jam for fifteen minutes near the A14, I saw Mum look pointedly at Dad, who nodded emphatically. Then she turned in her seat to face me, and said, out of the blue:

"Do you remember the time you first went cycling with your friends?"

"... Yes," was my bewildered, reluctant reply. We tended not to discuss this event, but I remembered it vividly. I had been about eight or nine at the time, and I had convinced my parents to let me cycle round the estate with my friends. I had wheeled my bike out to meet them, and been met with a hail of laughter, as I still had my stabilising wheels on. I had kept a brave face and cycled at the back of the group, saying nothing. I was not a confident cyclist yet, but they had all grown out of their stabilisers long ago. It went on like this for about twenty minutes, until I heard one of my more distant friends sniggering that I was "such a baby." Hearing the laugh this received, I was incensed, and then something very odd happened.

I began to pedal furiously, and almost impossibly fast. My legs were pushing the pedals with such speed that they had become a blur. I zoomed past the entire group of boys, and as I did so, the training wheels fell off, useless. The bike even began to emit a roar, and exhaust fumes, as if it had now become part-motorbike. To cap it all, I screeched round the corner, the others hot on my tail, and met a propped-up 'road works' sign on the pavement in front of me. This acted as a ramp for my bike and, soaring through the air, I performed two perfect back-flips before landing on two wheels, to the utmost shock of everyone around.

I had cycled eagerly home to my parents, pushing through amazed and confused friends. But when I returned home, my parents had looked worried. They had kept glancing furtively around, brought me inside and told me calmly that while they were very proud of my confident cycling, I was not to try anything like that again. I had told them I hadn't done it on purpose. They had seemed to understand, but the subject was then dropped indefinitely.

So why were they mentioning it now. "What about it?" I prompted when my Mum didn't reply. She hesitated, and then said, "well, what happened that day has something to do with... the real reason we're moving house."

"The real reason?" If possible, I was even more stunned than before. "You... you mean it isn't to do with your work?"

"It is partly to do with our work," Dad chimed in from the driver's seat. "Only, our job isn't the same as what we've told you."

Before I could say anything, my mum continued. "We are anthropologists," she insisted, "but we're quite specific ones. We study... Muggles."

"What are Muggles?" I asked immediately, wondering if this was all a joke.

"They're people who aren't... aren't... magic."

"Magic," I remember saying it under my breath, at a loss for any other words.

"Magic." My mum said again, more confidently. "Like us."

At this, loss for words disappeared, and I began to babble uncontrollably, my thoughts, feelings and questions all desperate to get to the front of my mind. "Us... me? I mean - magic? What..." I broke off eventually, as I heard my Dad chuckle, and saw my mum grinning from ear to ear.

"You have no idea how much of a relief it is to finally be able to tell you." Dad said apologetically. "Lots of wizards and witches - that's what magic people are called - study muggles. But our job is sort-of undercover. We work for the magical government, tracking the way muggles experience what they call magic, to see if they're catching on that it really exists. The Wizarding World has to be kept secret from them, otherwise terrible things could happen. Either muggles will start asking for magical solutions to everything, or... well, you've heard of witch hunts, haven't you?"

This was more than I could take in at once, everything was moving so fast. I plumped for the questions that were most pressing on my mind. "So, you're magic? And I'm magical too? I'm a wizard, because I'm your son?"

"Yes," said Mum, still beaming at me. "And before you ask, the reason we haven't told you before now is because we couldn't risk anyone finding out what we really are."

"I wouldn't have told anyone -" I protested, but Dad cut me off.

"We know you wouldn't know, but we couldn't be sure of that when you were younger. Our assignment in Lincoln was supposed to finish about five years ago, but it was around then that it was even more important to keep our eyes on the veil between muggles and magic."

"Why? What happened?" I asked.

"That's not something we should tell you right now," Mum said slowly, and seeing my face of protest, continued: "because you won't really understand until you know more about magic."

"You must have tons of questions," my dad said cheerfully, "and you can ask away now you know you're a wizard. With this traffic I'd say we've got at least another hour and a half before we get to the new house."

Excitedly, I plunged into my list of questions about this incredible revelation. My parents were happy to answer anything I had to ask, seeming very happy that the secret was finally out. They told me all about their work at the Ministry of Magic in the Muggle Liaison Office; how they'd learnt magic (and also met) at Hogwarts School, and how this was the mysterious secondary school I would be attending from this September.

"Is Hogwarts in East Anglia then?" I asked.

"No, said Dad, "It's somewhere in Scotland, but we couldn't tell you you'd be going to a regular secondary four hundred miles away, could we?"

There were times later in life (including at Hogwarts) when I was briefly annoyed at my parents for not telling me about being a wizard earlier. But that was not the case now. I kept asking questions, and they continued to answer, though they were careful not to give away too much - they wanted some of my magical journey to have an element of surprise.

And, for the first time since I had learnt of us moving house, I felt truly happy about where I was going next.


	2. The Wizarding World

**Chapter 2: The Wizarding World**

The first two weeks of the summer holiday consisted of making the new house our own. Before my parents had told me about my exciting new future as a wizard, I had been dreading this part even more than the move itself. But now I knew about magic, I had a great time: not only did I now feel a warm affection for the new house - cosy, welcoming, tucked away in the countryside - the task of moving was made lighter, and infinitely more exciting by the fact that Mum and Dad could use magic again now. When we had arrived, they had both pulled out long wooden wands, and begun to wave them around, sometimes muttering unusual words. I watched in awe as they bewitched the boxes to fly in front of them, and put together entire bookshelves and cabinets with a simple sweep of the arm.

"The wand is a wizard's greatest companion," my Dad told me. This was another upside to the moving-in process; it gave me plenty of opportunity to find out more about the magical realm I was so new to. "It's what channels our magical energy and allows us to perform spells. There are some very clever wizards and witches who can do some magic without a wand; but for most of us, it's absolutely necessary."

"We'll take you to get your wand later on this summer," Mum chimed in with a sly smile, "you'll need one for school. But all in good time."

As July came to a close, I became used to my Mum and Dad using magic around the house; but I was nevertheless awed by their ability to make dusters and kitchen knives perform their tasks freely. Once the bulk of the move was complete, I spent a lot of time outside, enjoying the bright sunshine of the summer in the country. There were acres of space around the house, with gnarled trees that were excellent for climbing, and I began to add to my birdwatchers notebook, as there were species here that I'd never seen before.

Early one morning, I had come downstairs to explore a patch of woodland at the bottom of the hill, when I heard the distinct screech of a barn owl coming from the kitchen. Without stopping to think why the owl was indoors, and awake in the morning, I hurried back up to my room for my spotter's notebook. It was only as I brought the book down with a pen that I realised how unusual this was. The owl had what looked like a rolled-up newspaper attached to its leg, and was holding it out, as if asking me to take it.

"Well go on then," said Dad as he strolled brightly into the kitchen. "Take the paper, and pay the owl." He handed me a bronze knut (my parents had already explained magical money to me), and I placed it into a pouch around the owl's neck. Then I untied the newspaper, and the owl flew off abruptly.

"So, instead of the postal service..." I began, and stopped when I saw my Dad nodding.

"Yep," he said, grinning. "And this is the wizard newspaper, _The Daily Prophet_. I've just renewed our subscription, now that we're not undercover any more."

Unrolling the paper, I gazed down at the front page. Most of it was taken up by a large photograph of a group of people standing in front of a gate, an older woman cutting a ribbon with over-large scissors. Behind the gates, a large set of double doors set in stone was just visible, but I didn't notice that until later because something was pre-occupying me. The people in the photo were moving. Some were waving and smiling up at me, while others behind jostled for attention. Dad must have seen my amazement because he began to chuckle. Looking over my shoulder, he ruffled my hair and called upstairs to Mum.

"Prue! It's finally been made official!"

"Great!" Mum's voice floated down from the bathroom, "that means Jem might actually get his letter soon."

Unsure of what they meant, I looked back down at _The Daily Prophet_ and began to read the article that snaked around the huge photograph.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL RESTORED AND REOPENED_

_In the three years since the fall of Lord Voldemort, curse-breakers, architects and aurors have been working tirelessly to bring Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry back to its former glory. Now, it seems, their work is done. At a special ceremony last night, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt and new headmistress Minerva McGonnagall led the celebrations as the school gates were reopened, ready to admit students once again._

_The event was full of famous faces, including many members of renowned anti-Voldemort groups, Dumbledore's Army and the Order of the Phoenix. "I'm thrilled to be joining the staff of this amazing school," said Neville Longbottom, founding member of the D.A. and newly-appointed Herbology professor. "I learnt everything I know within these walls and grounds, and it will be my honour to help continue that tradition now that Hogwarts is open again."_

_There has been some criticism of the restoration, in particular reference to the duration of the venture. Project Manager Bill Weasley, however, assures readers it was essential to ensure the safety of its occupants. "This building had to endure a huge amount of magical change during the war. Albus Dumbledore's enchantments were hard enough to unravel, without unpicking the mess of dark magic that were thrown at it in June three years ago." Bill, whose brother Fred died in the final battle of Hogwarts, laid the final stone of the new front gate, in memory of all those who gave their lives to bringing peace to the magical community._

_Approximately 200 students will be returning to the castle after being educated at Magical establishments around the world. Hear from 17-year-old Emma Dobbs about her experiences at Beauxbatons Academy on page 4, where the article continues._

I understood. The Wizarding World had officially announced what I had already been told. I sat down, taking everything in. For some reason, holding written proof of the school's existence made it even more unbelievable that this world could possibly exist. Magic was real, and _I _was going to be learning it. In my hands was a newspaper with moving pictures, that had been delivered by an owl.

I felt my Mum's hand on my shoulder as she came into the kitchen. She was reading over my shoulder.

"Dad, what did you mean about... about my letter?" I had all but forgotten about that until now.

"Your Hogwarts acceptance letter." He said simply. "It doesn't sound very exciting, but the best bit is you get your equipment list." At my silence, my mum clarified.

"The day that letter arrives, we'll be able to go and buy everything you'll need for your first year at Hogwarts."

"Including my wand?" I had been obsessed with my parents wands ever since I'd first seen what they could do with them.

"Yes, including your wand," Dad chuckled. Turning to Mum, he said: "I do hope it comes soon, I haven't been to Diagon Alley in ages."


	3. The Wandmaker's Apprentice

**Chapter 3: The Wandmaker's Apprentice**

"Dear Mr. Baker," I read aloud the following Friday morning. My parents sat opposite me, my Dad stroking the delivery owl, and they listened as the excitement in my voice grew steadily. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Ever since the article about my future school, I had been eagerly awaiting this moment. I had been up not long past dawn every morning, reading every inch of the _Daily Prophet_ until I dropped back to sleep on the kitchen table. No longer was I content to watch my parents show me the magical world. More than ever before, I wanted to be a part of it. I'd learnt about the different departments in the Ministry of Magic, read up on the latest in wizarding celebrity, and I was particularly enjoying a recent news cycle about the proposed use of staffs instead of wands. I'd even picked a Quidditch team, though Dad refused to talk about it until I'd seen or played a game for myself. ("You really have to _experience _it," he'd said many times already.) There isn't really a local club where I live, so I plucked for the Kenmare Kestrels, after my favourite bird.

Now though, all my attention was on the letter. "Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September." I grinned, and saw my parents grinning back at me. As I opened the other piece of parchment, a small card of bright magenta fell out of its folds. On it were the words: _For one-way travel from London to Hogwarts. Departing from King's Cross Station, Platform 9 3/4, 11:00, September 1._

There were lots more questions throughout that day, and though I felt bad for bombarding my parents with so many, they still seemed just as happy to tell me all they knew about magic. Explanations weren't really enough though, and by Sunday I was once again itching to experience a tangible piece of the wizarding world. Seeing my restlessness, my parents decided to take me to get my school equipment the following day. I'd read and re-read the list so many times over the weekend that I nearly had it memorised, but that didn't stop me checking it again several times that night when I found I was too excited to sleep.

In the morning I found Mum rummaging through an old chest I'd never seen before, and Dad hauling firewood from the back porch onto the hearth.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

"You'll see," my mum said cheerily. "This box is full of magical possessions we could never show you until we'd told you the truth." I looked at the array of items already displaced from the chest. Among other things was a large multicoloured spinning top, a pair of binoculars covered in dials and buttons, and small packets containing something called _Fizzing Whizbees_.

Dad arranged the firewood in the grate, then got up and pushed a plate of croissants towards me.

"We'll be leaving quite soon," he said. "Just make sure you've had something for breakfast, and we can eat out later." I nodded and began to spread a couple with jam.

"Aha!" Cried my mum, pulling out an ornately painted tin. She tidied all the objects back into the chest and shoved it into the space under the kitchen sink. Dad pointed his wand at the firewood and called: _"Incendio._" Flames erupted on the logs, much to my delight. The amazement seemed to be wearing off, but I'll always look at magic with awe.

"Floo powder," Mum announced, opening the tin and pulling out what looked like black sugar. "Safest way to travel, I reckon, except perhaps portkeys." She seemed to guess I'd ask what a portkey was, because she wasted no time in throwing the dark grains into the merrily burning fire. At the touch of the powder, the flames leapt suddenly higher and turned a brilliant shade of green. Next, my mum stepped into the flames, and stood there, composed and totally unharmed. In a loud, clear voice, she said "The Leaky Cauldron."

There was a rush of heat and light, and then she was gone. The flames were low and yellow again. I didn't have time to be confused.

"Right, you next then." I felt my Dad's hand on my back. "You've seen how it's done, just follow your mother."

I grabbed a handful of the powder and threw it into the hearth, shouting the unfamiliar words as I stepped into the oddly cool flames. The next thing I knew, I was spinning, with glimpses of different places surrounding me. Modern sitting rooms, crowded kitchens, even what looked like a sauna. After about a minute, the spinning slowed and I fell onto my knees, tumbling over and landing on a dark stone floor. Mum appeared and helped me up, and I took in my surroundings.

The Leaky Cauldron appeared to be a pub. It was dimly lit and not busy, but it was here that I got my first glimpse of wizards who don't have to conceal themselves from muggles. There were witches in bright robes, wizards in ridiculously tall hats, and even some customers who seemed not to be entirely human. None of them seemed to have noticed that I had just travelled eighty miles via chimney and appeared in the fire.

A rattle behind us announced Dad's arrival, and after a brief chat with the elderly landlord, my parents escorted me to the courtyard at the back of the pub. Taking out his wand, Dad grinned at me as he tapped one of the bricks in the far wall. Slowly, the surrounding bricks began to move, twisting around each other until an archway had formed, revealing a wondrous sight.

Before me was a bright, bustling street. In many ways it was not unlike the cobbled lanes of Lincoln, sprawling out unevenly as it did, with buildings crammed in either side. What made it different were the people. Nearly everyone was dressed like those in the Leaky Cauldron, shamelessly displaying their magical status. Also, the shops were unlike any I'd ever seen, in my home town or anywhere. Windows were packed with quills, cauldrons, bats, broomsticks, all of which I drank in with wonder. My parents seemed equally pleased to be there, though they clearly knew what they were doing. They strode confidently through the clouds, beaming at seemingly familiar faces. One wizard hugged my Dad, saying over and over again how good it was to see him back.

Our first Destination was Gringotts Wizarding Bank, a towering building of white stone, which was even more elaborate and impressive on the inside. The piercing stares of the goblins unnerved me, but eventually we were led away from the main hall and into the tunnels below. The cart ride took us far below the earth, down to vault 239.

"This vault has belonged to our family for hundreds of years," Dad exclaimed, as he and Mum counted unusual-looking coins into leather purses. A substantial pile of these pieces lay in an alcove to the side, and my parents gestured towards it, saying: "all yours." I gasped. Surely all of that couldn't belong to me. Mum helped me count out some coins of my own, and Dad explained to me how Wizarding money worked as the cart made its way back to the surface.

Out in the sunlight again, my parents took me on a tour of Diagon Alley. I could have spent days looking through the books in Flourish and Blotts, but the shop was full to bursting. It was all we could do to grab one of the pre-packed 'First Year' piles, pay, and then escape into fresh air. The Apothecary was less crowded, but the acrid mixture of smells ensured our search for potion ingredients was a short one. Not long after that, my new cauldron was carrying all out purchases, including a telescope, two sets of robes, a set of scales and some protective gloves.

"Just the wand to go then?" I asked eagerly. I knew my parents had been saving it for last and I couldn't wait to finally receive my very own magic wand.

"That and a pet," Mum replied. I checked the list, and saw that I could choose between an owl, a cat or a toad. I grinned up at my parents, and I knew that they knew what I was thinking.

"You go on in," said my Dad to my Mum. "I'll catch up with you once I've bought this one an owl. Any preference?"

"I love tawny owls," I said as Mum and I entered a shop very close to the Leaky Cauldron. The sign read - _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC._

_"_Hello there!" A cheery voice floated towards us from the back of the shop. Soon after came the voice's owner, a young-looking man with boyish features and wavy blonde hair. "First year, is it? We've had plenty of those in today, the first real surge this holiday. Lots of people must have gotten their letters at the weekend." He grinned at me. "Welcome, welcome. My name is Gilbert Ollivander. I'll help you find the wand that's right for you, don't you worry about that."

My Mum had a concerned expression on her face. "So, are you... is Mr. Garrick Ollivander...?"

"He's my father, yes. We like to keep this business in the family. Have done since Roman times. Even more important at the moment, what with this rubbish about trading wands for staffs." He shook his head as he began to riffle through the myriad boxes stacked on the high shelves of the cramped shop. "Yes, he's my father and my mentor. Since the war he's taking a back seat, focussing on teaching me so I can fully take over when I need to."

He said all this in the same cheery tone, as if he were commenting on the clement weather. I glanced at Mum, whose concerned look had not faded. Master Ollivander continued his oration: "Yes, now that my lessons with Dad are complete, I've been able to take the craft in a new direction."

"A new direction?" I asked, curious. He had begun to pile boxes onto the counter.

"Yes. My father has always been very traditional. A fine wandmaker, no doubt. The best. But only using three different cores in one's wands does rather... limit potential. Here, try this." He handed me a wand. It felt strangely light in my hand. "Ash, twelve inches, mermaid-scale core." I waved the wand, and a stack of books on a nearby shelf caught fire. Mum began to laugh, and the young man joined in shakily. He put out the flames and replaced the wand in my hand with another.

"Beech, nine and a half inches, dragon heartstring." When I waved this one, I was astonished that I could produce a shower of bubbles. Disappointingly, however, they turned quickly to sludge which dripped onto the floor and left a nasty orange stain. "Closer..." mused the wandmaker's apprentice. Mum smiled at me encouragingly, and while we waited for the next wand to be presented, Dad entered the shop. He had a grin on his face and had in his hand a large cage covered with a purple cloth.

When Master Ollivander finally returned, he wore a look of triumph. With the air (ironically) of a muggle stage magician presenting his final trick, he brought out the next wand and placed it silently in my hand. Immediately I felt a strange warmth rush through my arm and into the rest of my body. My hair stood on end and my heart pounded. This time, a cloud of blue steam issued from the wand tip, twisting into many intricate shapes. A battleship, a mountain range, a castle. The steam dissipated in a flurry of golden sparks, and all three adults were smiling.

"Excellent, Excellent!" Cried the shopkeeper in delight. "That will be seven galleons and four sickles please." My parents paid and I held my very own wand close to my chest. I finally had one.

"The wand chooses the wizard, you know," said my Dad knowingly as we made our way to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch.

"I could feel that," I replied. "It's the first time I've really felt... magical."

"What's the specification of this one?" Mum asked. "He didn't tell us, just put it in your hand."

I checked the box. "Hazel wood, ten and a quarter inches, and the core..." I looked closer and turned to them in confusion. "What's a thestral?"

They looked at each other, a strangely grave expression shared between them.

"Is there something bad about thestral hair?" I asked. But they didn't answer.


	4. A Magical Education

**Chapter 4: A Magical Education**

For the rest of the Summer, my parents seemed different. I was ecstatic to be closer to the wizarding world than I'd ever been. I spent every spare moment reading though my new schoolbooks. My favourites were: _1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi _and _Magical Drafts and Potions_. I loved the idea of being able to make magical things from nature by combining them into something tangible. (Having said that, I was still itching to try out some of the spells in the _Standard Boo__k_, but my parents were adamant that I wait until I was at school to use my wand.)

But despite my increased enthusiasm, Mum and Dad seemed to have lost their own excitement about my entry into magical life. I would sometimes catch them exchanging concerned glances across the table, and they seemed to be going to bed later and later as the weeks went on. If I hadn't been so enraptured by my window into Hogwarts, I would probably have asked them what was wrong. I don't know what they would have said.

Finally, the evening before we were due to travel to London so I could catch the Hogwarts Express to start term, my parents came up to my room under the pretence of helping me double-check my packing.

"Excited," my Dad asked, wearing a grin that seemed somehow forced.

"Do you need to ask?" I replied, beaming genuinely back to him. "I've come up with a name for my owl." My dad had indeed bought me a tawny owl to be my Hogwarts pet. I couldn't wait to send and receive letters with him. "Athelas." It was a healing plant I'd found in _Herbs and Fungi._

"That's a great name," said Mum, giving the owl a gentle stroke as he shifted on his perch. He was eyeing his cage cautiously as if he already knew he would have to be shut in it for the majority of the next day.

"What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" I asked after a long silence. My parents tried to look taken aback, but they must have known that I'd seen through their ruse straight away.

"We want to tell you something important," Dad began. "One last thing you'll need to know before you go to school."

"Okay," I said simply. Then a thought struck me and I asked: "is it about Lord Voldemort? I saw his name in that _Daily Prophet_ article."

"Yes, it's about Voldemort," replied Mum. I nodded, and listened as they told me the story of the first and second wizarding wars. How Tom Riddle, once a schoolboy at Hogwarts himself, fell into the Dark Arts and became the most powerful evil Wizard in history. How he was weakened when he failed to kill Harry Potter, the legendary auror, but was able to return in various forms while Potter was at school. How Potter, his friends and mentors were able to defeat Voldemort and his followers in the battle of Hogwarts. By the end of the explanation, I was left awed and astonished.

"I don't know what to say," I said.

Dad smiled. "You don't need to say anything. But most of the other kids will know that story, so we wanted you to be up to speed. But you don't need to worry. Your Mum and I were teenagers when Voldemort was at his height of power the first time. Hogwarts is the safest place in the magical world: it took Voldemort and his followers years to figure out how to infiltrate it, and even then, it's protected by some of the most powerful witches and wizards alive."

In my shock at the scale of the story, I hadn't even been thinking of my own safety, so this statement worried rather than comforted me. I thanked my parents for telling me, and they got up to leave, telling me I should get some sleep.

"Big day tomorrow," Mum's smile seemed real for the first time in weeks.

"Before we go though," Dad began, and Mum's smile quavered as she shot him a worried glance. "There's one more thing. Voldemort used many artefacts to try and gain as much power as possible. One of them was a very powerful wand made of Elder... and thestral hair."

I didn't follow straight away. Dad continued: "it's still nothing to worry about, but we've spoken to some friends and... well... they've never heard of a wand other than that one having a thestral-hair core."

"Well," I said, "from what Master Ollivander said, there are a lot of unusual cores that Mr. Ollivander never used. Maybe that's why. It's just not traditional." I couldn't see why this was so important. My Mum nodded supportively, and eventually, so did my Dad.

"Yeah," he said. "Nothing to worry about."

* * *

I was up bright and early the next morning, and was stood by the fireplace in the kitchen well before my parents. We would be travelling by floo powder to the DA museum in Grimmauld Place, before making our way to King's Cross Station on foot. I clasped my ticket for the Hogwarts Express firmly in my hand, excited and nervous for what lay ahead. Looking around at the house that had become my home so recently, I said a silent goodbye as yet more unknown experiences awaited me.

"Off we go then," Dad said briskly, as if he had been waiting for me this whole time. "You excited?"

"Just a little bit," I joked, before stepping into the green flames and heading for London.


End file.
